


what's your damage

by peachyteabuck



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, but the hurt is from stealing things lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25712509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck
Summary: after a particularly rough job, eliot turns to you for comfort.
Relationships: Eliot Spencer (Leverage)/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	what's your damage

It’s not as if Eliot can’t take a beating. Or torture. Or being Sophie’s punching bag when they needed an aversion so Parker wouldn’t be noticed as she stole whatever the fuck it was they were stealing this time.

But somewhere between Nate resetting his broken nose, taking down three guys with swords ( _swords!),_ and scrolling through the entire encrypted folder full of pictures and videos of you and himself in varying states of decency – he just became too much for him. It’s not as if Eliot has some sort of pseudo mental break – it’s just that he normally enters your shared home with more joy, more _spark_.

He’s always tired when he comes back from jobs, it’s part of the…well, _job_. But even as you stand in the kitchen and hear his key turn in the lock, you can tell something’s off.

Eliot – quiet as ever – closes the door and turns to look at you and whatever it is you’re eating (or, were eating, since your attention had zeroed in on him the second he texted you that he was “on the way home” in a much easier code than usual), not bothering to see if you follow him to wherever it is he’s going (you do – you always do).

Wordlessly he drops his keys onto the counter, stalking towards the living room before stumbling onto the couch with the grace of a parking structure collapsing during a devasting earthquake – the bags in his hands falling onto the hardwood floor in the same manner. He doesn’t even untie his shoes when usually he takes them off the second he comes in the door.

All of it, everything he had or hadn’t done, pointed to one conclusion: he’s fucking _exhausted_.

Just as mute as he is, you return to the kitchen to grab the supplies necessary to steal an Eliot.

Once those have been gathered, you find the love of your life in the exact position you left him – nearly asleep even as he sits upright.

He notices when you enter the room, opens his eyes just enough to see the sadness and worry that’s painted your face. He says nothing.

_Let me take of you_ , the look says, handing him the ice pack.

He takes it and places it at the top of his spine, pressing against the couch to keep it in place. Though he remains speechless, the avoidance of eye contact and everything else he’d done up until that moment are enough to tell you that he accepts whatever it is you want to give him.

You start with Eliot’s shoes – untying them before pulling them and his socks off and putting them in the mudroom to be cleaned at a later time. On your way back to the couch you grab the first aid kit from the bathroom along with the small trash can, placing them next to you as you sit next to him.

Neither of you say anything for a long time – the grocery bag nearly filled before Eliot turns to face you.

“Is that my sweatshirt?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

You let out a little snort as you rub the last bit of antiseptic into the scratches on his bicep. _You’d have to go to the store soon_ , you note.

“Yeah,” you leave a small kiss on the part of his arm _not_ mangled and slathered with various over the counter disinfectants. “Made me feel better when I missed you the most.”

Neither of you says much else, especially as you notice the growing bugle in his pants and the hitch in Eliot’s breath when your fingertips graze over the seam there.

You gulp ever so slightly before you unzip his jeans, pulling them down just enough so that you can free his aching cock from its confines. Eliot moans at the rush of cool air, lips barely parted as he desperately tries to strain his bruised ribs. You consider just wrapping your lips around him until he comes down your throat and calling it a night – bruises and cuts on his face nearly too much for you.

But then he begs, and _fuck_ it triggers something deep in you, something you didn’t know existed. Men like Eliot Spencer don’t _beg_ , they barely bargain or negotiate , let alone throw their heads back and twist their hands in your hair so they can lightly tug at the follicles and ask _“please, baby”_ ever so beautifully.

“What?” you ask, furrowed brow and jutted bottom lip the picture of cluelessness as you spit on his cock, slowly jerking him as your pussy tightens around nothing.

Eliot sighs ever so slightly – not annoyed but still frustrated. “Baby, _please_ –,” his eyes roll back as you lick the underside of his shaft. “ _Fuck_ I’ve missed that pretty pussy so fucking much _please_ , I love your mouth and your hands but _please_ let me inside of you, it’s all I’ve been thinking about since I left. _Please_ -“

He babbles on while you sit there, stunned. Eliot’s not the most quiet person you’ve ever met, but rarely laid himself bare like that.

Another wave of arousal hits you as you swallow the spit that had gathered on your tongue, nodding silently as you strip yourself of your shorts and Eliot’s sweatshirt before positioning yourself in his lap.

He reaches for you, wincing a little as one of his hands find the back of your neck. It’s not as if he ever had to pull you in for a kiss, but especially now you make the effort to close the gap between the two of you.

Eliot’s hands move to your waist as you guide him inside you, palms and fingertips rough from years of combat and whatever else he got himself into.

_“_ Oh _God_ ,” you moan, one of your own hands cupping his face as the other moves to grip at the back of the couch. The rest of your body stays in place – giving both of you a second to savor what you both had been craving for the past seven long, grueling days. “God, I missed this.”

Eliot lets out a small _hng_ as you kiss at his neck, teeth scraping against the stubble on his jaw. “Me t-too,” he manages to get out, brain focused on the feeling of your velvet cunt along with not causing more trauma to his very injured body. It’s a delicate battle between the two most consuming feelings he’s ever had the fortune of being overwhelmed by: adoration for you, and deep, all-encompassing pain. “ _God,_ I thought about this nonstop since I left.”

You give a little snort, beginning to move as desperation comes crawling back, settling itself over you skin and in your core. It’s good, so good you’re nearly overwhelmed. But Eliot’s injured, and you’re the only one who can get both of you off, so at least one part of you – however how small – has to remain present.

“That it?” you ask, peppering his face with small kisses as you continue to slowly ride his cock. “That’s all you missed?”

It takes a second for Eliot to respond – brain lost in the euphoria, nearly drowning as your cunt envelopes his cock over and over and over again.

“Missed cuddling you,” he replies eventually, voice even deeper than before. “Missed waking up with you curled up on my ch _-chest, fuck_ ,” you know he’s getting closer, but you refuse to stop - refuse to let him stop, too. “Missed cooking for you and s-seeing you in my clothes.”

You smile, kissing him once more as he continues to rub at your clit. “Is that all?”

Eliot gulps, trying to find that laser focus that allowed him to kick ass but short-circuited the second he crossed the threshold and saw you, swallowed by his sweatshirt with a face filled with concern. “Missed how you moan when my fingers first enter you, how beautiful you look when you come. Missed your tits and how fucking gorgeous you sound when you moan my n _\- oh shit-“_

He could feel how close you are, how tight you’re becoming around him as the tectonic plates in your abdomen come closer to fracturing with each passing second.

“C’mon, baby,” his thumb circles tighter and tighter around your clit, other hand in a death grip on your hip as your movements become more frantic. “Come for me – come around my cock.”

And, _God_ do you come.

“ _Eliot!_ ” you scream – whole body spasming as you tighten your grip on him, _all_ of him before collapsing against Eliot, your lips crashing against his as he chases his own release.

“Fuck, _fuck-“_ he moans into your mouth, panting against your lips. “Fuck, baby I’m-“

He comes inside of you with a long, deep grunt – whole body tensing under you as you remain panting on his chest. There’s a long, sustained silence as he remains inside of you, reveling in the feeling of having you in his arms again. For a long while – most of his life, really – he didn’t think he could have something like this. Even with Aimee it always felt _off_ somehow, something always felt like it was missing whenever they were together.

Eliot’s never had that problem with you. It scared him at first – still does sometimes, too. But moments like these make it worth it.

You’re the one to break the silence, voice soft as you speak.

“As good as you remembered?” you ask, tracing random patterns onto the well-worn t-shirt. You move to kiss Eliot once more, noticing how less tense he seemed.

Eliot smiles despite the pain, pressing his lips to your hairline. “Even better.”

**Author's Note:**

> yes i have fallen in love with leverage no i will not apologize


End file.
